The Addendum | Review: Great Railroad Photography 2010



Great Railroad Photography
From the editors of Railfan & Railroad Magazine. Carstens Publications, Inc., 108 Phil Harden Road, Fredon Township, Newton, NJ 07860; http://www.carstens-publications.com/; 8.5 x 11 in; perfect-bound, 98 pages, 124 color and 5 b/w photos, 1 illustration; $14.95.

Among those who have an interest in the photography of railroads — or at least in making photographs that rise above the typical output of the railfan photography subculture — there has been a steady incessant griping about a lack of an outlet. Industry publications have only limited opportunities for photographers, and consumer publications often stick close to their railfan bases. It’s not that these publications don’t have an interest in more artistic forms of railroad photography, it is more that, among railroad photographers, they are sometimes perceived as more conservative in their tastes. A desire for a magazine or other publication aimed directly at the photographer’s market simmered. Last year, Carstens — publishers of Railfan, decided to take a risk and put out just such a publication: Great Railroad Photography, the first of a planned annual publication run.

GRP is, essentially, an all-features railfan magazine. Within its covers will be found no departments, no columns, no news articles. The entirety of the publication is dedicated to (primarily) full-color feature stories, eight in all. There are no columns or departments, save for an introduction by editor Steve Barry. A few random pages of advertisements at the beginning and the end of the volume remind you that this is a magazine (and not a slim book), but overall the real estate is given over to content, making the publication feel very upmarket. 

Yet I use the description “all features railfan magazine” with intent. The cover photo is a clear and crisp but not particularly groundbreaking front-on photo of a tourist steam locomotive. Inside, there are some real stand-out features, like Kevin Scanlon’s photo-essay on the steel mill landscapes of Pittsburgh, Steve Crise’s portrait of the Nevada Northern steam railroad, and Keith Burgess’ moody, expressionistic photos. But alongside these are other features — notably a spread on the Milwaukee Road by Karl Zimmerman and a story on the Clinchfield Railroad by Ron Flannary — that feel far less photography-oriented. I want to be very specific here: it is not that these stories are poor, but it is that they are centered more on a historical narrative and don’t feel like they belong in a magazine purporting to be about “great railroad photography.” They appeal on the basis of historical content, not their photography, and thus their presence strikes a discordant note in the publication. 

The pattern of each feature is somewhat uneven. While each holds to a similar layout of fairly large photos and very little text, sometimes one wonders why the text is there at all. This is especially true of articles like Elrond Lawrence’s piece on the Santa Fe Railway. It is as if the creators of GRP are not yet sure what this new photography-centered animal of a publication would be, and still in the hunt for a model, they’ve simply applied the traditional railfan photo-essay model and reduced the text ratio by about 2/3rds. Far better layouts are put forth for the Crise and Burgess pieces. Each is cleanly displayed, there are no errant or random snips of a larger text floated on unexpected plains of paper, and there’s a certain cohesive tightness to the design and layout. Both concentrate — properly — on letting the images speak for themselves, and don’t make the horrid mistake of stacking both lengthy captions and text content on the same pages. 

GRP is published on heavy, full-gloss stock. It is sensually luscious to hold. Color reproduction is top-notch, and I found no obvious flaws or color casts, although the black-and-white images in the Scanlon peice seem rather dark, and the images from the two vintage oriented features seem a bit washed out. 

The bottom line question to ask is, does Great Railroad Photography live up to its name, and to its own cover blurb, which states that it is “an exciting journey crossing boundaries of photographic style and expression?” My answer is: not yet. The 2010 issue contains among its pages a few strong pieces and some mostly elegant layouts, but it is still feeling its way around, still developing its voice and its philosophical bent. Despite these flaws, the production team that put together the magazine deserves a lot of credit. They are the first publishing house to attempt to fill the photography niche in a long time, and they’ve put together an ambitious first try. If Carstens does indeed make this an annual publication, I strongly suspect that Great Railroad Photography will mature into a substantial role as an outlet for artistic — or great, as it were — railroad photography.

Great Railroad Photography is available directly from the publisher.

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The Addendum | 2010: Ten Best Images

Although the year is not yet closed, most of my photography is complete for the year, so it is once again time to look back and pick out the ten best images of the year.

“Best” is, of course, a rather loose term. In some cases, these are images that are emblematic or reflective of the directions my photography took over the course of the year. In other cases, they are images that simply appealed to me on some more personal level. I’m hardly an objective or unbiased observer, so forgive my skewed and imperfect list.

As with previous 10 bests (see 2007, 2008, and 2009,) the order is chronological, and clicking on the image will yield the image’s Flickr page.

***

1.

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Guilds Lake industrial park in Portland, Oregon, Spring 2010.

My obsession with hyper-local history and macro-economics collided over the last few years as I dug into the old industrial areas of Portland. This image, shot in the Guilds Lake industrial park on the northwest side of town, is typical of the straightforward documentary style I was employing. Although it preceded my familiarity with the New Topographics movement, a friend pointed out that this image smacks of “Baltziness.”

2.

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Guild’s Lake industrial park, Portland, Oregon, Spring 2010.

Another Spring image from Guild’s Lake, this one of a rather water-logged railroad spur. Like the previous image, this too was part of a series, in this case a project concentrating on an insider’s viewpoint of the railroad environment. The Spring rains had parted enough to let some of the clouds catch sunlight and reflect in the standing water here, a testament to the working conditions of many of the regions’ rail workers.

3.

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Beburg Lead, Beaverton, Oregon, Spring 2010.

Part of the same series as the previous image, this shot of a railway switch shows my weakness for close-ups and form. The subtle gradations of grays and the textures are all appealing to me. Switches, like any fork in the road, are loaded in metaphor as well.

4.

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Albina, Portland, Oregon, late Spring 2010.

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit too Friedlander now. Still, there may be no better way of capturing the current state of Ben Holladay‘s once-ambitious settlement of Albina, a city nearly wholly owned by industry and that hoped to eclipse Portland in wealth and power. The “town” is now but second-rate industrial land, the streets are blocked off for “safety,” limiting access to a single overpass lined with chain-link. Dominating it all are two riverfront docks, the I-405 freeway, and (of course) the Union Pacific Railroad. The story of the West is not, perhaps, the fall of the mighty, but the fall of the over-ambitous and the wannabe.

5.

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San Francisco skyline near the Ferry Building, Summer 2010.

Since reading Peter Bacon Hales’ Silver Cities nearly a year ago, I’ve been giving a lot more thought to my approach to urban areas as cohesive subjects. This is especially true of the skyline shot, a photographic approach that is, essentially, the application of Grand Style to an entire city rather than a single building. On one of two brief trips to the Bay Area during the year, I could not resist walking out to the end of a pier and shooting this backlit image of the original American city on the Pacific, San Francisco. Despite its traditions being more celebratory than critical, it’s become one of my favorite images.

6.

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Amtrak Capitols, somewhere east of Berkley, California, Summer 2010.

Another photo from the first California trip, and another candid image of a traveller. Transportation is more than a tool, it is also a space with an almost ceremonial quality. Especially during the dark hours, as when this was shot, travel breeds reflection and introspection. What is this woman thinking? That her children have worn her down for the day? That her new Burberry jacket makes her feel younger and attractive? That she can’t wait to get home and turn to bed? That she wishes she could have stayed in San Francisco, on the other side of the ethereal gateway of the Bay Bridge?

7.

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Timesheet, Tigard, Oregon, Summer 2010.

I dearly love — adore — closeup images. Macro is an addiction, but truly good macro lenses can be a bit out of range. One solution: the extension tube, which alters the distance between the rear-most lens element and the film plain. Result? Fairly inexpensive macro images and the ability to push f/stops very very low, reducing focal range dramatically. This image was half test for the new macro gear, and half an addition to the aforementioned railroad-from-the-inside series, using some old paperwork.

8.

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Sunbirds, Chehalis, Washington, Fall 2010

Small towns in the Northwest are rich fields for the student of economics and land-use. Here we see the interior of part of the old Mid-Century mall craze, in the Sunbirds shopping center in Chehalis, Washington. Built as a competitor to a slightly larger and more traditional mall known as Yardbirds (which is advertised by a massive, somewhat folk-art black bird sculpture), Sunbirds always seems to have excess space left over for the prospective retailer. Rural towns such as Chehalis may be the one case where the mall has failed to kill the old Main Street culture, although the Big Box retailers are doing their best to take over that fight.

9.

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Shaver tug Portlandaids in mooring the Fortune Clover, a grain ship, at the Louis-Dreyfus “O” Dock in Portland, Fall 2010.

Portland was largely built on the Oregon Steam Navigation Company. A steamboat monopoly operating mostly on the Columbia River, the OSN funneled the wealth of mid-19th Century mining in the interior into the pockets of its Portland owners. Shaver, one of two major barge and tug operators on the river, is in many ways the successor to the OSN, tasked with berthing ocean-going ships and shepherding the river’s barge fleet. The latter are critical to the movement of the nation’s agricultural crops, as Portland is the single largest export point for grains in North America.

10.

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Abandoned former Atofina chemical terminal and the Willamette Draw, Portland, Fall 2010.

Portland is usually known as a progressive, livable, green city, and I do love it for its advancements on these fronts. Still, I also find myself seeking out the aspects of the city that are less than ideal, the portions that lend a bit of balance to the popular persona of the region. Despite its location in the allegedly pristine Pacific Northwest, Portland is an industrial city, much like Cleveland or Cincinnati or Toledo. We too have our abandoned industry, our brownfields, our pollution. The lower Willamette River is lined by the Portland Harbor EPA Superfund site. Atofina Chemical’s grounds seen here — where pesticide was once manufactured — are smack in the middle of that polluted region. Not exactly the postcard of Portland one usually gets.

***

It is interesting to look back at previous years and see the shifts and changes. In 2009, I had written that I had shot more film that year than ever before, yet I had also picked mostly digital images shot with my trusty little G9. For 2010, my film shooting increased even further, while the G9 was largely sidelined. Now, in the digital era, my commitment to Film has become even stronger and deeper.

This is also exhibited through another notable change: for the first time, every one of my ten favorites is a black-and-white, traditional process image. Even during the culling down to these ten, a color digital image hardly ever beckoned. It’s not that I don’t like color, it’s more that I just didn’t shoot that much of it for the year. One last interesting tidbit: half of the images are part of some larger project. Due to the nature of some of those projects, it is little surprise to me that many of them had a rail-related component as well, the most pronounced concentration on rail subjects in years. 2010, for me, truly was the year of serious, black-and-white film projects.

Amusingly, there are at least a dozen more rolls from 2010 on my workbench waiting to be developed.

Onward, 2011.

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The Addendum | Valuing Negativity

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Robert Adams is one of the few American photographers of note who also writes about the process of making photographs without becoming pedantic about it. He starts his essay on the photographing of evil with an example of a small colorado railroad town, a mining town. The example gives me pause: after all, I love the human-altered landscape. Evil? Sure, I understand why Adams disdains what mining has done to the Western landscape, but of all the things to start an essay on the photography of evil with, these seem like heavy, provocative words.

This is not to say that there isn’t negativity here, and one has to give credit to Adams: he is, after all, trying to build a case for a photographer making pictures of such negativity. In a medium that seems to have given itself over to populist romanticism — twilight vistas, coastal drama, the postcard or promotional or public-relations image — a bit of realism, a bit of negativity is a welcome thing.

For me, I cite negativity as one of the things that has attracted me back to making railroad images. The contemporary railroad has much about it that is regrettable. As part of a larger industrial rush towards ultimate efficiency, it has largely abandoned much of the rural West to decay. It asks employees to work farther and farther from home under far less stable conditions, as if unreasonable expectations become reasonable if the pay is high enough. The world of the railroad worker is increasingly isolated from society and from other employees, a place of inhospitable solitude which leaves little room for family much less friends.

While Adams was, I think, making a case for finding beauty in the negative, I would make the corollary case: that when a genre focuses too much on beauty alone, it loses some relevance to the world. Negativity is not something that one might strive to find beauty in, but rather is a necessary balance against the dangers of rampant romanticism. Negativity is needed, it grounds the photographer and the photographs.

On a related note, for anyone serious about photography, especially landscape photography and related sub-genres, I recommend securing copies of Adams’ Beauty in Photography and Why People Photograph. Both books contain essays on photography that are highly readable yet also highly thoughtful. You will likely find yourself frequently agreeing with what Adams says about this medium, but also on occasion disagreeing heartily. At all times you learn. They’re both relatively cheap and both worth picking up.

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The Addendum | Time, Loss, Plowden

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I’ve always felt that time and loss are integral to community. It is the passage of time and the changes — losses — that time brings that makes a sense of place more palpable. To be in a place one has never been before carries a kind of excitement and wonder, but to return to a place — especially after the passage of time — is an entirely different sort of sensation. The tart edge of freshness is worn away, and deeper, nuanced subtleties become more visible. Partly this is because of the thoughts, feelings, and ripening of memories that takes place between the first visit and the next, but much of it, too, is created through the changes wrought by time.

When I think of time, change, and photography, there’s one artist who comes to mind above all else: David Plowden. I recently wrote about Plowden’s railroad photography for the Railfan and Railroad “Extra Board.” Plowden is widely known for his being “one step ahead of the wrecking ball” as he photographs the fading remnants of Industrial Age America. The latest installment of this visual obsession is the book Requiem for Steam, which is now available in local bookstores.

Recently, Plowden went on Iowa Public Radio to talk about steam locomotives, photography, and this latest book. The interview is 49 minutes long, but well worth making time to listen to. It made for a good start to this Monday with my morning tea. Plowden has a mesmerizing voice and a lively edge to his words; you can tell them man is truly passionate about what he photographs.

Plowden had no intention of being a photographer: he wanted to be “a railroad man.” When he went to university, he studied economics with the hope of becoming a railroad executive. “This was a terrible mistake,” he notes, “it really wasn’t the business end of railroading that interested me, it was the romance.” This was, in some ways, the “never-meet-your-heros” moment for Plowden, and his career in the railroad industry was short. Working for the Great Northern in Willmar, Minnesota, he ended up being promoted away from the locomotives and into the offices; shortly afterwards he quit.

This decision has a lot of resonance with me. I’ve had my Willmar moment as well, and learned very rapidly that I had little interest in the sterile, insular, acerbic environment that is the modern railroad. (That Plowden emerged with his longing for the romance of railroading intact is a small miracle.) Photographers, I think, have a hard time relating to the world as a functioning part of it. We feel more comfortable behind the camera, observing, recording, judging, praising, condemning, hoping. Or am I alone in feeling that way?

I could go on relating Plowden’s early photographic career chasing the last pulse-beats of the steam railroad, or his self-described “brazenness” that made it possible, but I’d be ruining the interview for you. Listen to it, even if you aren’t interested in steam locomotives. Learn from it how this photographer thinks about the images he makes, and how to approach subjects, and having purpose in ones photography.

And for those who can swing a bit of travel this week, Plowden will be in Sacramento for two events, the first a fundraiser for the Center for Railroad Photography and Art on Thursday night, and the second being a book-signing event on Saturday. Both will be at the California State Railroad Museum. I’ll be attending both events, and I encourage anyone else who can to do the same.

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The Addendum | Trimet: Time for some sobriety

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Over the last year or so — and especially lately — there’s been a lot of rhetoric tossed around over TriMet. Between a bad editorial, a near-miss on a labor action, and lots of Internet drama, I think it’s time for some cooler heads to prevail.

1.) The Oregonian‘s editorial against measure 26-119. As of today, I don’t know how I’ll vote on measure 26-119, which would fund $125 million worth of improvements for TriMet’s transit system. Chief among the items that would be bought with the proceeds of this bond measure are numerous busses to replace aging vehicles and improvements for pedestrians, elderly, and handicapped citizens.

I can however tell you that the Oregonian‘s editorial against the measure in yesterday’s paper is a load of bunk.

First, the paper states that the bond measure will cost taxpayers “$30 to $43 more in taxes each year.” That’s dead wrong. 26-119 replaces an existing TriMet bond that is expiring. It’s cost will be the same as the old bond. In short, this is a renewal, and its passage will result in the same tax bill as homeowners get now. The editorial board for the paper had to know this was a renewal. I cannot believe they would be so incompetent as to not check the facts on this. So that means they ignored the truth and chose to intentionally portray this as a tax hike rather than a renewal.

Second was this gem:

Approving a bond measure is like buying something with a credit card. It may look appealing, but it multiplies the cost of a purchase by adding interest. That doesn’t seem like a smart way to go.

So if this is correct, the Oregonian just dismissed all funding of public projects via bonds as irresponsible credit-card-like spending. This is an insane notion. Bonding is one of the oldest, most respected, most stable ways of funding the purchase of new equipment or the construction of new projects. This is an intellectually dishonest position, unless of course the paper will now oppose all public bonds from this point forward.

Third, the paper suggests that TriMet should have been setting aside money for these things all along, and that because they haven’t set aside enough in the past, they shouldn’t get any now. This Monday-morning-quarterbacking must make the Oregonian’s editorial board feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but it contributes absolutely nothing to solving our problems. The reality is that we start from today, with what we can affect today, and navel gazing with coulda-shoulda-wouldas about the past will not result in one improved stop, one replaced aging bus, or one additional LIFT service for our elderly and disabled citizens.

In short, the Oregonian‘s editorial is both dishonest and dead wrong.

2.) Bus vs. rail budget rhetoric. Over the last couple of years, there’s been a lot of noise about how TriMet’s service cuts would not have been made if it hadn’t been building a rail system over the last three decades. A lot of noise is put out there — including by angry bus drivers — that MAX is only built at the expense of the bus network. There’s even transit equity activists out there now, trying to lobby for the agency to increase bus funding at the expense of light rail.

None of this is true and it’s time to knock it off.

Way, way, way back in 1969, an editorial in the now-defunct Oregon Journal noted that there could be no “taxation without transportation.” In this, the founding year of TriMet, there was concern that if the entire tri-county region was to pay to support the new agency, then the entire area needed service. In short, they argued in favor of transit equity, just as organizations like OPAL are doing today.

The irony: the Journal was warning about concentrating only on urban routes. “Already the idea is getting around that Tri-Met is to be operated primarily for the benefit of central Portland,” the editorial notes:

…the heaviest travel both on downtown streets and outlying roads comes during the morning and evening rush hours. Those drivers… are workers who earn their paychecks in Portland and take a large part of them out to the suburbs to spend. Both city and suburb will benefit by a smooth flow of traffic; neither can get along without the other.

What the Journal had recognized even in 1969 was that Tri-Met served two very distinct geographic markets: an urban, less affluent market, and a suburban and more affluent market. Despite the growth of high dollar urban living in Portland, this dynamic is still prevalent. To serve this mix, Tri-Met needed, in the Journal’s words, “truly metropolitan thinking.”

MAX light rail is part of that metropolitan thinking — in fact “MAX” stands for Metropolitan Area eXpress. Light rail is a key cornerstone to uniting diverse transit rider populations in one, cohesive system. Maybe in this era of tight budget constraints we’ve all forgotten that a little.

Just as importantly, light rail is a key cornerstone of our land-use system, our way of dealing with growth, and our very cultural fabric, as I’ve written about before. We as a region are not about to sacrifice our values or our long term goals because of short-term budget stresses. Our wallets are thinner, but what we believe in and stand for has not changed.

So let’s face it: we’re building the Orange Line to Milwaukie. And after that? Probably Southwest Portland, Tigard, and Sherwood, and maybe (if it’s ever built) a short stretch over the new Columbia River Crossing into Clark County. As a series of projects stretching over multiple decades, any delay we face creates a ripple forward that affects every project’s timeline.

So do you have to wait another 5, 10, 15, or 30 minutes for your bus in order to ensure that the community won’t have to wait another year, five years, or a decade for high quality transit to be built? Yes. And if the people at OPAL really support good transit, then they need to drop their rallying cry of “bus riders unite” and replace it with “transit riders unite.”

Lastly, remember that all those pro-bus libertarians aren’t pro-transit at all. They just know that the only way to sell their opposition to (what they see as) the socialism of light rail is to support the (slightly less odious to them) bus system in opposition to it. This unholy alliance of pro-enviro justice groups and anti-light-rail libertarians has got to stop. Don’t kid yourself. If the latter ever got their way and axed MAX, the busses would be next on the chopping block.

3.) Bus driver / anti bus driver rage. These last few years have been tough for everybody, and nerves are fraying at the edge. A number of incidents have occurred over this time period wherein bus drivers have been involved in accidents, sometimes fatal. With press coverage of these incidents, the riding public has become more alert — perhaps downright paranoid — about their drivers following the transit agency’s rules. Some citizens have appointed themselves honorary TriMet supervisors, recording bus driver behavior on cameras and lodging complaints with TriMet about employees who talk about their work on the web. Two bus drivers who blog about their work ended up in hot water, with at least one of them yanking their TriMet related blog. The agency seems to be disciplining and firing drivers at higher rates than usual, and facing pressure from tight budgets has begun to question paying some of the cushiest medical benefits for transit workers in the nation.

It should come as no surprise that tensions are running a little… high.

The reality is that TriMet drivers have some of the hardest, most thankless jobs in the region. Think about it. When you drive the area’s major arterials, do you feel happy? For many of us, just 15, 20, or 30 minutes on the freeways and highways of the region at the beginning and end of day are enough to make us start yelling at other drivers and wanting to move to the wilds of Montana, never to see another soul again. Now imagine driving in that all day. Fun, huh?

Most bus riders probably know how stressful the job is because most bus riders probably have seen the same things I’ve seen: crazy drivers, accidents waiting to happen, the odd stray bicyclist not paying attention, the pedestrian stepping into a crosswalk against their light. But there are a few bus riders out there who have appointed themselves Captain Safety, their cell phone cameras at the ready.

You’re not helping things.

And to the drivers, forget that annoying, self-righteous moron who is stalking you on the bus hoping to send in their video to TriMet HQ and the local FOX affiliate. He or she is not representative of the rest of us, your riders, who you take care of every day.

As for the drivers themselves, I’m thankful that you didn’t stage a sick-out this morning. A soft strike such as a sickout will only serve to make the commutes of TriMet riders longer, slower, and more painful, and that anger won’t get turned against an agency that is trying to reduce what most perceive as over-inflated benefits packages for drivers. No, that anger will turn towards the drivers who called in sick, and in turn to all drivers. So it was a good strategic move not to call in sick.

But moving forward, we’re all having to deal with reductions to survive these times. Everyone. So by all means, fight for keeping the most benefits you can — that’s in your interest — but accept that they are on the table. Negotiate. Work towards a deal. What we all want — what we all want — is to have a functioning transit system that benefits the most people across the entire region. We all do have common ground to start from.

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The Addendum | Update: Railfan online photos & story now archived

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Old United Railways mainline in Guild’s Lake. Portland, OR, April, 2010. Kodak TMY.

Earlier in the year I noted some photos and text published on the Railfan & Railroad web-extra section, “Extra Board.” At the time, these small stories were not archived. That has now changed, and “Last Light at 12th Street” can now be viewed here.

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The Addendum | Review: Discovering Main Street: Travel Adventures in Small Towns of the Northwest



Discovering Main Street: Travel Adventures in Small Towns of the Northwest
By Foster Church. Oregon State University Press, 121 The Valley Library,
Corvallis, OR 97331; http://oregonstate.edu/; 5.5 x 8.5 in; trade paperback; 192 pages, 5 maps; $18.95

Although the Northwest boasts three major metropolitan regions — Vancouver, Seattle, and Portland — it is the small town that most defines the character of the region. With sparse populations, vast agricultural regions, and a legacy of resource based economics, the town (and sometimes, failed town) dots the landscape with regularity. In the post-industrial world, many of these towns have replaced their old ways of life with tourism, and few now would ever remember that a place such as Seaside, Oregon, for example, was once a timber town instead of a taffy town. Yet for every milltown turned tourist trap, there’s a half dozen that remain truer to their heritages, and it is these more authentic and less famous towns of the Northwest that Foster Church has packed into his guidebook, Discovering Main Street: Travel Adventures in Small Towns of the Northwest.

Church intends the book as a true guidebook, as with the dozens and dozens seen in the travel or regional sections of our area bookstores. Unlike many of these contemporaries, however, Church’s volume aims at something more akin to authenticity. Explicit in the beginning is the admonition to treat visiting small towns differently, as the author exhorts the virtues of visiting the local Chamber of Commerce, reading the local paper, and eating breakfast in the local diner as ways to learn the local culture. A requirement of any town he has included is the provision of lodging; Church argues that a town that seems at first sleepy and passed-by will reveal itself better to a traveller the next morning.

Following a brief introduction in which the author lays out these arguments, the book is divided into five chapters, each corresponding to a specific region of the Northwest: the Willamette Valley, the Oregon Coast, Southern Oregon, Eastern Oregon, and Southern Washington. The bulk of Washington and the entirety of Idaho are excluded from the book, much less other states (or provinces) that have traditionally been described as Northwestern. This is perhaps understandable given that Church was a staff writer at the Portland Oregonian for over twenty years and is likely most familiar with Oregon towns or towns within a short drive of Portland, but the lack is noticeable and unfortunate, at a minimum bringing the choice of title into question. Within each chapter is an entry on a small town. In railroad fashion, the town name is followed by its elevation. Next comes a brief paragraph describing the road to the town; perhaps reflecting the author’s interest in off-beat locations, all of the towns in the book are reachable only by road, although the presence of transit options is an unspoken likelihood. The bulk of the entry then consists of a short, generally narrative text describing a typical visit. The entry is then bookended by a single paragraph describing what Church terms “the basics” of lodging and dining. In all, 48 towns are covered. Following the entries is a brief epilogue and an index.

The author has walked a very fine line with this book. Although organized and promoted as a guidebook, Church gives us more a collection of small narratives, like a journalist encyclopedia of place. The writing is solid, verging on poetic at times with an occasional turn of phrase flashing through like agates on a sandy beach. Read as narrative, the book can almost be frustrating, as you want to read more, to learn more, and instead are given a short paragraph on where and how to visit and then rushed off to the next entry. There is something vaster here, something that Church should seriously consider, the potential for a book that is equal parts John Berendt and Stewart Holbrook. Yet, is this sense of “not quite enough” exactly the point? In some ways, by leaving the reader wanting more, the reader is also left wanting to fill in the missing pieces themselves by visiting. In that, we can almost forgive the missed opportunities of a straight prose work.

As a guidebook, however, the work is equally difficult to peg down. Church isn’t going for comprehensive, but instead for the ways of visiting towns that he views as most authentic to place. In Mount Angel, for example, the bulk of the entry involves the experience of staying at the Benedictine Abbey in town. There’s nothing wrong with this, except that it places the book more into the tradition of travel writing than of a guidebook. Further, there’s a deeper issue revolving around the author’s methodology of finding authentic rather than touristy small towns. His advice for knowing a small town partly relies on the same questionable mechanism as tourist towns do, like the visitor’s center. Other staples of local place that Church advocates are the local diner’s bulletin board or attending a local school sports function. There may have been a time when these suggestions would reveal a fully realized small town community, but if so it hasn’t been in this reviewer’s admittedly young life.

The book is a standard trade paperback guidebook, well executed and business-like with an attractive color cover. It feels fine to flip through, and will likely not begin to fall apart until many years past it becoming obsolete. With no photographs and only a few maps, there’s little to complain about.

Overall, Discovering Main Street is a solid book with interesting stories and useful information for the traveller seeking something other than the usual over-advertised tourist traps. Although not a fully realized guidebook nor a true work of prose, Foster Church’s writing is eloquent and occasionally beautiful in its own right, and the ways that he recommends visiting these towns are refreshing. The book will prove interesting to anyone who remembers the invaluable works of Thomas Friedman and is seeking a more contemporary offering.

Discovering Main Street: Travel Adventures in Small Towns of the Northwest is available beginning this month from Powell’s, Amazon as well as directly from OSU Press.

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The Addendum | Historic Hyper-Localism and Portland Culture

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Is the knowledge of fringe, obscure historical remnants like these traces of the former industrial past of the Central Eastside — and the stories behind them — part of the uniqueness of Portland cultural DNA?

What makes up the cultural DNA of Portland? This is a question that, as a student of cities, I constantly ask myself. It is the reason I have travelled to other cities in the region, spanning from Vancouver, B.C. to San Francisco. It is the reason I have a passion for history, a passion for photography, a passion for local food. All of these things help me to form perspective on what makes this place, this urban region, so unique.

A number of weeks ago, friend and fellow Portland blogger Dan Haneckow lead a history tour around his neighborhood, the Overlook area of Portland. Taking place on a fine, sunny, but breezy afternoon, the walk attracted around fifty people of all ages and backgrounds. Dan lead us through the streets north of the old town of Albina, as far east as Interstate 5, and as far north as Killingsworth. Along the way we learned about the filling of ravines, secret basement speakeasy bars, Polish enclaves, victims of the Japanese internment, and all sorts of other historic scraps.

At about 7 p.m., the tour wound down, and about eight of us stuck around (Dan and myself included) to have dinner and a beer at the Lucky Lab and talk history. A gaze around the table was fascinating. Old mixed with young, newcomers mixed with natives, blue collar mixed with white. And what was this diverse crowd doing over beers, in the blue-hour light, on a random Summer sunday evening?

We were discussing where, of all things, the Piggly Wiggly used to be.

Of all the things, this strange mix of backgrounds, ages, occupations, and origins all had one thing in common, and that was an intense interest — perhaps love — of place. By place I don’t mean the grandness of the bridge-hemmed river, the cast iron Gilded Age remnants of Old Town, or the postcard-stock rose gardens and parks. I mean instead the most intimate levels of location. Building by building, block by block, the finest grain of urbanity. These were people who cared who owned the house before them as well as who came before them, and before them, and so on back to the builders. These were people who wanted to know just what used to be in the coffee shop, just why the building on the corner is rounded, just why there’s a tall, odd, green metal pole that stands orphan beside the road.

This love of place is a kind of historic hyper-localism, or as Lost Oregon’s John Chilson recently described it to me, “micro-history.” I hesitate to say whether this trait is unique to Portland, but there is no question to me that this sensitivity to the most intimate levels of historical narrative is a definite part of the Portland DNA, a common element of culture that crosses generational, economic, and social lines.

Naturally, in filling in the answers about the Portland DNA, I unearth yet more questions. Is this hyper-local historicism something that only reveals itself to a person after living in a place for a certain amount of time? Is it accessible only to the native or the local, of importance and available not to the visitor? And, therefore, is it rampant everywhere, but simply unavailable to me without living in those other places? Or, conversely, is it a unique quality or character of being of or from this region that we call Portland? Do we, here, breed and mold a culture of historicism? There has, after all, always been a reflective, contemplative, and inward turning tendency here. Maybe, just maybe, we’re all just a little geeky for what came before. Not a surprise, perhaps, for the city that reintroduced the world to the streetcar.

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The Addendum | Historic Hyper-Localism and Photography


Kelly Avenue pedestrian underpass, Portland, OR, April 2010. Kodak TMY.

Recently, over at civics21.org, I wrote about the idea of hyperlocalism and history, or as local history blogger John Chilson described it to me, “microhistory.” This concept encompasses the bits and pieces of the past — the loose strings about the edges — that don’t often get encapsulated in the history books.

This intense and intimate scale interest in place — both in the traces of the past as well as the fingers of the present — is one of the aspects of photography that I am strongly drawn to. For me, photography really is a way to visually explore place, and the more tacticle the better.

The monuments, the vistas, the grand spaces, these have all been documented or interpreted countless times. As beautiful as the slopes of Mount Hood are, what more can I really add to the visual interpretations of that space, what can I contribute that has not already been said better? And no such photograph made by me will ever be able to transmit the holy beauty of that monolith.

However, in the common scramble of photographers to capture the big, the famous, the looming, the grand, we often have forgotten the corners of the world, the places that we pass by day-by-day, and which have so much story to tell if only we choose to listen.

Although such corners have always held a fascination for me, until discussin the idea of microhistory with John I had not really recognized that that was one of the threads to be found within my own visual work. Realizing this thread, however, has given me many new ideas to consider.

As a photographer, it always pays to be thinking about your photographs, even when you don’t have a camera about, and it pays too to talk to the people who know your subject matter, jsut as I did with John. It opens up your mind to new possibilities.

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The Addendum | A plug and a project

0089-B-08In Between. Portland, OR, March 2010. Kodak TMY.

This month I have two articles in the Online Extras section at the website of TRAINS Magazine. Both of these stories were written for a content extra that promotes the activities of the Center for Railroad Photography and Art, whose excellent 2010 conference I attended (and impromptu got drafted into staff for) in April.

The first of these articles focused on taking a project-based approach to railroad photography. As with many genre-driven photographic subcultures, the railroad photography crowd has a tendency to try and “shoot everything” and to try and capture subjects before change wipes them from memory. One possible approach to dealing with this successfully is to try and make better predictions about what is likely to be gone in the near future.

My approach, however, is different. I believe capturing the present before it is lost is less important than being cohesive in what you, as a photographer, are trying to say. The piece which ran earlier in August advocated this approach and explained how and why it can lead to better photographic results.

Today, the second half of the two-part series was put up on the web. In this article, I share one of my recent projects and use it to explain how I apply the project-based approach to railroad photography.

This is the first public unveiling of a series I have been spending a considerable amount of my time shooting. By-and-large, this is my attempt to create a railroad photography project that doesn’t rest on the romanticism and Grand-Style traditions that dominate this genre. It also represents a much more distinctive personal stylistic voice applied to the subject. I have to say, using this series as a basis of a teaching moment was a bit… hairy. Showing a major project to the public for the first time can be a nerve-wracking thing.

One last note: my thanks go out to photographers Wes Carr, the Center’s Scott Lothes, and Kyle Weismann-Yee, for contributing images to both articles. You made me look good.

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